Contractors don't dream...

[mortemscintilla]

WHO: Korra & Hei

WHAT: Down with the sickness.

[ Ever wondered what happens when the deadly Black Reaper is felled by the common cold? Look no further. ]

[ There is a lull in his search for Yin and Mao. He can't stand a lull -- he is het up, that fizzy-hot impatience crashing down his spine every hour on the hour -- he wants results on his search. He wants something solid -- a clue, a lead. Or, unable to have that, something to tear apart. Quiet makes him seethe. Quiet gives him a chance to think about whether or not Yin is alive, or sprawled facedown in a ditch, a tangle of broken white limbs and glassy eyes. Or worse, installed in some filthy den of vice like the thousands littering Republic City's bowels, where there is a nice little trade of girls who are frail and unwell in that unique way Yin is -- at least until she is cracked open, her life-force squeezed out like yolk, the remnants of her body flung aside like broken shards of eggshell. ]

[ The idea makes him grit his teeth. Yin and Mao have to be out there somewhere. If only he can be granted, for just one hour, a bird's-eye-view, an aerial perspective far above the city's rooftops but short of the obscuring clouds; and if only his teammates could wear unknowing red bullseyes, so that he can point down and say, Found you. ]

[ But stupid fantasies are not the way the world is. So he glowers at the dead ends his search yields, and stews and schemes and waits under his ten tons of dread. ]

[ While contending with his latest setback: a hellacious cold. ]

[ Sulky, mouth dry and nasal passages stuffed and aching, he tries to go about his routine. But when he walks he is dizzy, and has to grab the wall for balance. It's pathetic: it's been years since he's felt this shitty. Ordinarily he is defined by his jarring solidity, the sense he can weather any storm, forge onwards while others fall and die. ]

[ Look at him now. Weak as a kitten and slumped in bed, surrounded by sheaves of snotty tissues. Oooh, sexy. ]

[ Korra is in for a real treat when she gets back home. ]

Comments

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei stays still for a moment, straight-armed, S-spined, head hanging, over Korra's breathing body. Grapples with his self-control, which climbs and spreads awry like a thrill of wildfire. One of these days, he'll have to insist on the imperatives of rubber. But in the meantime, it is ... strangely sweet to be trusted like this. To feel Korra opening like a soft, melting fire-flower beneath him. To feel the crux of his own desperate want sunk so completely into hers, nothing trapped between them but skin and heat and the drugging pulse of their blood. It feeds a familiar loosening in himself as his worries slide away; spine uncoiling vertebra by vertebra, tense muscles dissolving into an easy, slinky sprawl. ]

[ He lets off a sound, low and tar-scratchy in his throat. Starts to ride her in deep, goading jabs. Straightening his arms, he watches her as he pumps: visits each part of her reddened face with moist lips: the gasping mouth and the fever-hot cheeks, the fluttering eyelashes, the damp hairline. Trickles of salt cut down his spine; a drop of sweat falls onto her lips. ]

[ Kissing it off, he whispers, ]

I feel ... better already.

[anatural]

[Insist all you want. Korra won't say no, but she won't make it easy for you either, not after weeks of fucking like this.]

Good. [She rocks her hips to meet his, and nibbles whatever part of his body she can reach through his kisses.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei's eyes, fixed on Korra's, are crinkled and bright. Everywhere she bites leaves a splotch of heat, a phosphorescent burn. His breath hitches to the roll of her hips; he can feel his heart as a discrete part of himself, shuddering in his chest. Carefully, he wedges a hand between their bodies. Rocks inside her in a heavy, insistent pulse, like the bassline to some low-down club mix as it hits its filthy breakdown, half the dancers whiskey-sloshed and trying to find release against the seams of their jeans.]

[ He teases Korra gently, grinding the heel of his hand against her clit -- a ticklish-soft pressure that matches the ruffle of her damp pubic hair across his palm. Kisses her, letting their lips cling, his nerves buzz, as his brain blurs into a discombobulating loop between impatience and delight. So many times he's seen her like this, splayed out beneath him, her face so sweetly glowy in its mass of dark hair, and each time it feels so ... personal. Just like having a conversation with Korra is not like talking to anybody else. Like kissing her, the way it once was with kissing Amber. It's only a more intense and private synesthesia than their other modes of communication. ]

[ He wonders if all people in love are doomed to have revelations this dumb. ]

[anatural]

[Yup. Love does that. Like re-inventing the wheel over and over again, the obvious seeming remarkable each time. If it helps, Korra's as much in its thrall as he is. As far as she's concerned, sex is a language only they speak, a connection only they share. Anyone can have interlocking bits, but theirs are the only ones that really fit.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Breath sawing, Hei diverts his focus to her neck. Scrapes the soft skin with his teeth, feeling the deep reassuring thub of pulse in her jugular, his mouth wide open at her throat like a vampire or a cannibal. He can feel his own heart pounding behind his temples, a thudding pulse in his fingertips, his chest, his cock, each beat a miniature earthquake. Always on red-alert, his critical mind ready to disarm, dismantle, destroy -- yet in moments like this, it's as if he's phasing in and out of consciousness, sometimes rocking forward and other times snapping out of a dream state where the world is not so much different than this one, just warmer and safer. ]

[ How long has it been, since he's let go enough to feel that way? (Has it ever been possible at all.) ]

[ He keeps the tumbleweed thoughts close, a small, fizzy secret inside his chest, and kisses Korra deeply and carefully. Lets his thrusts gather speed and depth, the mattress creaking under their weight. Works the heel of his hand harder against Korra's clit, her pubic hair slicked against his palm, their bodies greased in sweat everywhere they touch, an obscene slipslide, as he listens for the right hitches in her breathing to know what is and isn't working for her. ]

[anatural]

[As much as he's focusing on her, she's focused on him, trying to build him up as quick and hard as she can, wanting to tip him over the edge and watch him break. Her own (second) climax feels like it's clogged up, which is annoying but she knows that becoming frustrated won't do anything about it. The best thing is just focus on what she can do — bring him off — and hopefully whatever's holding her back will work itself out.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Hei's senses are burgeoning into overload. He doesn't know what to focus on: Korra's cute, debauched sprawl, the hazy blue glints of her eyes, the air dense with the musky, spicy scent of her, or the sweet, sucking pull of her body, its fluttering slickness that affects him like icy fingers delicately whorling across his spine. His body tenses a couple times, like he's trying to muster the energy to take back some of his weight, to sync his pace to hers. But it's impossible. With each rocking push, the pressure intensifies, slackens, intensifies again, a snowballing electric-storm. He can feel his eyes glaze over, his lids fall flutteringly shut. ]

Fuck...

[ It's barely a whisper, raspy and desperate. He can feel Korra's breath gusting hotly across his lips. He parts them, and nudges close to share that, too. Hikes her legs higher around his waist, re-angles his hips, and lets go -- his body abandoning grace as it descends into a rapid, erratic pummeling, faster, faster, until he's buried to the balls inside her, his climax wrenching from him with a series of hard spasms that make it feel as if every breath and sound has been sucked from his body, his cock discharging its hot, swimming fluids into her. ]

[anatural]

[Korra shudders, hit with a mini-climax that doesn't bowl her over, but at least tides her over. It's not like she was feeling 100% to begin with. She stretches lazily, enjoying the press of his body against hers —

And then she has to shove him off so she can roll onto her side and sneeze three times. Make that four. Make that five. Make that — she's not even going to count anymore. ]

[mortemscintilla]

[ Oh wow. Multiple sneezegasms. ]

[ With effort, Hei shifts his griddled body, propping himself on an elbow. Snatches up a handful of tissues, pressing them into Korra's fingers. Collapsing in a wrung-out, grungy sprawl across the cool sheets, he cracks his neck with a slow rotation before contorting the rest of his body in a replete, yawning stretch. His nose is still blocked: his exhales feel syrupy and bubbly, as if he is forcing each breath through an inch of pancake batter. But the heaviness in his skull has abated, leaving him rumpled, sleepy, muzzy-brained. ]

[ Rubbing slow circles across Korra's back with a palm, he murmurs, ]

I'll make mint tea, later.

[ ...After a much-needed nap, anyway. ]

[anatural]

Mmmmmmm. [Korra finally finishes sneezing and wipes up with the tissues.] That sounds amazing. [As does a shower, but that's way too much effort. Sleep, shower, tea. That's the new plan.]

[mortemscintilla]

[ He likes that small sound she makes when she's all fucked-out and drowsy, like a sated kitten, full of milk. He doesn't cuddle her. But under the wrinkled cocoon of the sheets, he strokes the curve of her hip, his recumbent body sprawled companionably close, so that her smooth, hot cheek is cradled against his bunched shoulder, her warm little hand clasped in his, the fingers loosely threaded. ]

[ At the window, the sunlight has faded into a dull purple umbra, and he can feel his eyelids growing heavy. Butting his head gently against Korra's, dark hair tangling, he lets exhaustion, like an ebbing tide, suck him slowly into darkness. ]